


Lose Yourself

by Beguile



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Angst, BDSM, Competition, Emotional Hurt, Guilt, Hand Job, Mentions of Restraint, Mild knife play, Other, PWP, Possessiveness, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Repression, Rim job, Sassy Matt, Self-Loathing, Sensory Overload, Threesome, Unholy Trinity Sex Tango, Well...Sai Play, m/m/f
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 06:26:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14971022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beguile/pseuds/Beguile
Summary: Elektra and Frank engage in a contest wherein Matthew is the playing field, the ball, and the prize.PWP. One-shot.





	Lose Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: the characters and concepts in this story are the property of Marvel and their related affiliates. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> I have become SMUT, destroyer of worlds. 
> 
> What was it – six months ago? When I last declared I had never written smut and never would? Well, I’m four smut fics down now, a hundred thousand more on the horizon. 
> 
> DichotomyStudios mentioned in a comment on my larger WIP (yep, this is another porny offshoot for that, but realistically, it’s not necessary reading) that a threesome could happen between Matt, Elektra, and Frank. Naturally, my brain went, “HELL YEAH!” because that’s what my brain does now. A huge thanks for the idea. I also owe thanks to [DichotomyStudios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DichotomyStudios/pseuds/DichotomyStudios) and [bluesyturtle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesyturtle/pseuds/bluesyturtle) for soldiering through my rough drafts and sharing their ideas and encouragement.  
> (Also, I'm sorry for never linking your pages before.)
> 
> Here's what you need to know: 
> 
> \- Frank, Matt, and Elektra just fought the Hand and blew up a warehouse.  
> \- Frank and Matt have definitely had sex  
> \- They’re going to have some more sex. 
> 
> There is a second part brewing for this fic, but for now I’m going to let this one stand on its own. Please, enjoy!

* * *

Lose Yourself

 

               Frank’s finger drops from the trigger. Matt breathes a sigh of relief, and he’s so busy being relieved that he doesn’t anticipate Frank’s hand on the back of his neck, Frank’s lips on his, Frank’s tongue in his mouth.

               Matt pulls back, catching Elektra’s toe under his boot heel. He staggers, the alley tilting oddly in his perception. Frank to his front; Elektra prowling from behind. A crooked half-smile audible as she speaks, “Well, this is unexpected. I didn’t know you’d become _that_ close. I never thought Matthew would let you.”  
  
               “Shut up,” Frank snaps.

               “Elektra,” Matt adds, warning. He’s already got his hands full fighting himself: getting his thoughts back under control, his heartrate down and his hands still. Adrenaline spurs the heat running under his skin, the thrust of blood into his skull. Heat rises in the tips of his ears, across his cheeks, his chest. Frank’s in front of him, Elektra’s behind, two storm fronts colliding with him in the centre, the exact conditions in which Matt’s been taught to thrive.

               They reach for him simultaneously; Elektra wins. He’s tugged back, almost off his feet. His back to her chest, his cheek to her cheek. He pulls away and finds her sai at his neck. “Go on,” she urges. Matt elbows her and the tip of the sai slips under his skin. “Go on,” she purrs at Frank, laughing. “Do it again.”

               Frank’s heartbeat reverberates across Matt’s chest. The closer he draws, the more powerful the vibration, the longer their arcs. Matt feels them dipping in and out of his skin like sewing needles, stitching new patterns, new scars – _MINE, MINE, MINE_ – while Elektra’s does the same from behind.

               “Ah, ah, ah,” Elektra yanks Matt back suddenly, digs the sai in a little deeper. The ghost of Frank’s hand hovers over Matt’s chest in an attempt to get at her sai. Elektra’s having none of that. “Give me what I want, I’ll give you what you want.”

               Frank growls. His hand finds her sai this time and pulls even as he presses another kiss to Matt’s lips: softer this time, more patient. The rest of Frank is occupied with getting the sai out of his neck.

               Elektra’s heartbeat is off to the races. She laughs, releasing Matt, who rises unsteadily, dizzily, back to his full height. “Daredevil and the Punisher!” she says, breathless with awe, with surprise. “Who’d have thought?”

               “Shut. Up.” Frank tells her again, advancing, gun still in hand.

               Matt stops him. “Frank.” Blood oozes from the wound in his neck; Matt brushes it aside, irritated. They were leaving, right? That’s what they were doing before the kissing started? Well, that’s what they should keep doing. “Cops are coming.”  
  
               “To the burning warehouse,” Elektra says with a roll of her eyes.  

               The unmistakeable sound of Frank thumbing back the hammer on his weapon reverberates through the alley. Matt swings around and again puts himself between them. “Enough, Frank.”

               Elektra heartbeat uncoils like a snake behind him. “Is this how it started? With a fight?” Frank charges her; Matt moves with him, which, God damn it, only gets Elektra going more. “It is, isn’t it? No need to be ashamed: that’s how it started with us too.”  
  
               “Elektra.”

               She speaks past him, to Frank - “Only thing more fun than fighting Matthew is fucking him” – as her hands brush up and down his sides. Matt recoils, bumps into her other hand. He fights her off and steps back to do so only to end up in Frank’s chest, and the sheer immensity of it, the heat and the sound of it, gives Matt pause despite or perhaps because of Elektra’s wandering touch. Unstoppable force and immovable object and him stuck somewhere in between.

               They were supposed to be leaving. God damn it, why aren’t they leaving?

               Elektra’s hand comes back. She continues talking around him, especially as Frank rejoins the fray: “I can see you’ve had the pleasure.”

               “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Even though Frank’s heartbeat – and _dick_ – know exactly what she’s talking about.

               “I do. I would have killed anyone who tried to lay a hand on that ass.”

               “Keep talking,” Frank dares her, strengthening Matt’s conviction to stay between them.

               She beams, continuing: “Not that Matthew wanted anyone else when I was through with him.”  
  
               “Why’s he dodging you now, then?”

               “Good question: Matthew?”  
  
               “Oh, I’m a part of the conversation now? I’m more than just an ass?” Matt demands.  
  
               The hot puff of Elektra’s breath against his neck sends a hot rush of blood into his legs. “Oh, Matthew,” her voice goes low and husky, “You were always so much more than just an ass.”

               She draws closer; Matt presses into Frank’s chest, absorbing the weight of that bassline heartbeat through his spine. Nerve endings fizzle to life in his skin, charged up, fired up, geared up. Coming when called to her voice and her smell and her touch, especially when Frank reaches and tries to stop her because _no_ but also _yes?_ Yes, please, Frank, try and stop her. Try and stop this. _Try_. It’s the trying that Matt really wants.

               Elektra is millimeters from his mouth when Frank’s hand scoops under his chin. Matt turns the rest of himself around for another kiss. It’s stupid, putting his back to Elektra, but the taste of black coffee and blood bring Matt’s senses to light. He’s primed, waiting in the chamber, and Frank and Elektra both have their hands under his shirt and all over his triggers. Her at his back, on his shoulders, over his spine – _shit_. Him, Frank, on his abs, his pecs – _shit, shit, shit_. He’s not even armed anymore. Both his hands are at play.

               As if sensing she’s been overtaken, Elektra twists Matt’s lips to hers, kissing him, biting down on his lower lip when she goes before whispering into his mouth, “He’ll never be as good as me.”

               Matt resists moaning from the shit happening at his waist. “Oh, darling,” he releases a small moan of approval from Frank getting his pants undone, “if you’re saying that, he already is.”  
  
               Elektra lays a slap on him, and it’s good. Hot and stinging. But she releases him to Frank and helps push his pants down from behind a second later, so mission accomplished.

               His briefs come down next; Matt can’t figure out who’s more responsible. He spreads his legs to keep them from falling further. Frank puts a boot next to his foot and forces his legs back together. Matt fights through a kiss to his brow, his cheek, his neck, startling when Elektra lifts his shirt and kisses a similar trail down his lower back, through the crack of his ass, lower and lower until there’s nowhere else for her to go except…

               Matt gasps. He bites Frank’s tongue as Elektra’s tongue slips into him. The alley folds in and his body seems to swell. Blood rushes into his head leaving him dizzy and flushed. They’re both so close and not close enough and God, his knees are shaking from the strain of holding himself up even as gravity and need pull him down, down, further into her.

               He looses a moan; Frank puts his mouth to Matt’s neck and kisses and sucks and nips, pulling sound after sound out of Matt’s throat. “Oh, God, please –“ but that’s not what he meant to say, there’s more, and it gets muffled under another moan as Elektra grips him by the thighs and pulls him hard against her face, burying her tongue as deep inside him as it will go. Matt’s head falls back and gives Frank more access to his neck, gives Frank’s hands a tighter hold on his chest, gives Elektra a stronger grip on his legs. He tries to speak and all that comes out is garbled sounds. Lots of unhhs and uhhhhs and mmms where there should be…there should be…? Something...? Matt needs to say something – anything. And they should get the hell off him, get the hell out of him, get the hell out of this alley. This is stupid. A whole new level of stupid for all of them, which is saying something.

               Elektra tugs her face out of his ass with a satisfied sigh followed by a laugh. “You’ve loosened him up.”

               Matt is about to agree – the Frank he met would never have done something like this, but Frank starts humming his dissent and it’s apparent that’s not what Elektra’s talking about. More than that, he, Matt, is being spoken over again.

               “Nah,” Frank says, giving some love to Matt’s abs in what feels like consolation but works like magic, “he’s still a tight ass.”  
  
               “We’ll see about that.”

               Elektra slithers up his spine. Matt curves into her, earning a satisfied sigh against his neck as her hand coils over his face. She sticks her fingers in his mouth, and they taste like sweat and blood, and her calluses are different from Frank’s when they scrape against Matt’s teeth. He closes his lips around her as she sucks on his ear lobe, her breath making a sound like _good, so good_ , a perfect accompaniment to the hot pinch of Frank’s nail in his nipple. Matt struggles to speak - “I’m not…” - but Elektra hushes him, takes her fingers out his mouth and says, “Yes, you are.”

               Frank anticipates her. He skips a beat on Matt’s left pec to spits into his palm and wraps his hand around Matt’s dick just as Elektra pushes her middle finger inside him all the way to her knuckle. She grabs him around the neck when he tries to get away. As if there’s anywhere to go. Buck forward into Frank’s hand or lean back into Elektra’s.

               She puts another finger inside him and gives him no time to adjust before she’s pulling him open. Fingers scissoring inside him, probing and petting and pressing. It all seems so rushed, so forced, but Elektra’s deliberateness is unmistakeable even as Matt unleashes a loud groan.

               “I still know you so well, Matthew,” she says into his ear, a third finger jabbing in as she does. A shock runs through Matt. Then another as she pulls them out, her fingers pulling, his muscles tight and aching. She’s in and he wants her out; she leaves, he wants her back. His head flops forward into Frank’s shoulder exhaustedly and Frank’s fingers find the back of his neck to comb through his hair and God, it’s too much. It’s too much. All the blood drains out of his skull into his dick.

               Frank’s hand never changes pace. In fact, it seems to slow down. “That true, Red? She know you that well?”

               Matt struggles to remember how to make words when Elektra’s fingers press into his prostate and all he can do is shake his head and nod at the same time. He’s caught in a mad cycle between Frank’s single-minded focus and Elektra’s multi-tasking madness. Between Frank strategically building him up and Elektra’s hard, sporadic gestures. He braces one arm against the wall; Elektra claims it as her own, tucking it high up his back. Frank takes the other one and pins it high against the wall.

               Matt’s knees almost give out underneath him. He grits his teeth, focusing. “Neither of you know me. Neither of you know me at all.”  
  
               “Oh, now, that’s not true.” Elektra strokes him so, so softly inside. He _melts_. “I know how much you like this.”  
  
               The sudden shock of Frank pushing him into her – of Frank _helping her_ \- causes Matt to blank out. He opens his mouth to chide them both, rub in their alliance, but gets interrupted by Frank releasing his hand to cup his balls. “I know how much you like this.”

               “And this.” Elektra blows across the hairs on the back of his neck.

               “And this.” Frank wraps a hand around his neck and chokes him.  

               The game continues:

               This – nails raking across his ass.

               This – a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

               This – fingers pulling out of him then slowly, gently pressed back inside.

               This – a firm pressure on the tip of his dick, one that slides back, unpeeling him.

               Distantly, Matt’s aware of his shame at giving away so much of himself. At being so easily undone. But Frank and Elektra hit a kind of jazz rhythm with their ministrations and he forgets how quickly this began, giving himself over to that wild, frenzied heat inside him; to the dizzy pulse of blood, the sense that the world is expanding and contracting; that his skin is too tight and too loose. That he wants it harder and faster. That he wants it deeper and fuller. That if they stay here, like this, he’d give them whatever they want, do whatever they want. No more killing, no more fighting.        

               Beyond his gasps and cries, Matt becomes acutely aware of another heartbeat at the entrance to the alley, one piqued with curiosity. He drops his head out of the ether. Fixes his senses on the pedestrian watching him get fucked by mortal enemies. “Fucking freaks,” the person says, before disappearing into the night. Matt’s thoughts go with them, in full and perfect agreement, leaving his body to take up firm residence in Elektra and Frank’s hands.

               God only knows how long they keep him like that – how long he _lets them_ keep him like that – before he feels the end coming. Electricity building up in his cramping legs. Reality dawns on him: shame, bitterness. He’s a game, and he’s being played, and if he finishes here, they win (but, oh, God, if he doesn’t. They’ve brought him too far, too far. He _needs._ He _needs_ to finish).

               Frank and Elektra realize it at the same time somehow. Shit. Matt gasps for breath, realizing his refusing to breathe gave him away. “No, no,” Frank tells him without changing pace, _without changing his fucking pace_ – _JESUS_. Matt burns hotter at the feel of it, that certainty, that control, especially when Frank tells him, “You’re not done yet, Red.”  
  
               Elektra doesn’t change her pace either. She uses her free hand to rub soothing circles into the back of his neck, and hell if that doesn’t work too. If her kindness doesn’t push him towards the edge. “Don’t listen to him, Matthew.”

               Matt can tell where it’s going, and it doesn’t help. His stomach still drops, his whole body goes rigid, he gasps, dying, really dying when Frank says, “You come when I make you.”

               He’s so easy. So God damn easy.

               More kisses on his neck. A palm on his overheated shoulders. Elektra’s voice, gentle, “You come when you need to.”  
  
               Frank speeds up his hand. “You come ‘cuz I let you.”  
  
               Elektra presses through hers straight into his prostrate and stay there. “Do it, Matthew.”  

               “Don’t end this yet, Red.”  
  
               “You’ve done so well.”

               “You’re so-“

               Easy. He’s so easy.

               “You’re _so good_.”  

               “ _So good, Red_. Don’t you quit on me.”

               No, he isn’t. Matt lets out a  that twists into groan a whine when they hit him with the word again: good. So good. And he isn’t - _he isn’t_ \- but they say it like he is, like he’s too good, actually. With honest heartbeats and warm breath and constant touches and tender restraint. He’s so good they won’t ever let him go.  
  
               “Come, Matthew,” Elektra urges.

               God, he wants to, but then Frank fires back with, “Don’t you quit on me now, hero,” and he has to fight.

               Elektra catches him right away: “Don’t fight it, Matthew.”

               Frank: “Fight it, Red.”

               Matt moans, struggling. He grabs her with one hand, Frank with the other, and they grab him back, pin his hands to them.  
  
               “Don’t,” she says.  

               “Fight it,” he says.

               “Do it for me-“  
  
               “You do it for me-“

               And that’s it. That’s all it takes. That burst of thought: _for me_. They both know it too. Elektra yanks her fingers out. Frank thrusts his hand. And Matt does it: with a shout and a rush and a full blackout of his senses, Matt comes hard, hot, and heavy onto the pavement between him and Frank. He’s shaking from the shock of it, body rigid, head bent heavenward, before succumbing to the slackening of his muscles starting from his ankles all the way up to his neck.

               He crashes into them. Elektra kneads his back loose while Frank paws at his front. Their words rushing through the torpor of blood in his ears, his magic words, the words that get him into these messes in the first place, words like “good” and “fight” and “relax.” Touches that soothe and ease and restrain. God, he’s terrible, cramped there between them: the Punisher on one side, Elektra Natchios on the other, his whole body aching for that next sweep of their hands over his cramped muscles. That next kiss of their lips on his fever-hot skin.

               Matt doesn’t wait for his wits to come back before he tears himself away from them: both of them. He knocks into a dumpster and waits for it to wake him up, but even that feels distant with all the endorphins running around inside him. With all the _need_ still brewing under his skin. He fumbles with his pants, straightens his shirt. Nearly falls over. Frank tries to catch him; Matt yanks himself out of the way.

               Easy. So easy.

               Their saliva is cooling on his skin. He smells like Frank’s breath and Elektra’s sweat and his cum, and God damn it, GOD DAMN IT, he wants it again. Let them have him again.

               He storms off down the alley as quick as his legs will allow him.   

* * *

 

Happy Reading!


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